


Twenty-Three Years Too Late

by Klybneeka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Auror Harry Potter, Auror James Sirius Potter, Aurors, Bottom Harry, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, Fascism, Father/Son Incest, Gay Harry Potter, Gay James Sirius Potter, Incest, James Sirius Potter Being an Asshole, M/M, Nazis, Parent-Child Relationship, Parent/Child Incest, Pottercest (Harry Potter), Rape/Non-con Elements, Swastika, Top James Sirius Potter, mancunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klybneeka/pseuds/Klybneeka
Summary: James Sirius Potter had always been a bit of a wild child....and Harry was still an anal virgin.
Relationships: Harry Potter & James Sirius Potter, Harry Potter/James Sirius Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Twenty-Three Years Too Late

James Sirius Potter had always been a bit of a wild child.

Harry had initially attributed his son's hot temper and impetuous personality to the snivelling pains of being young and lost, but the truth had been a different one: James had been different.

Throughout his years in Hogwarts, he had been a tyrant, although most students would have been too scared to testify on that. Imagine the worst bully possible, and then _his_ bully. That would have been James.

Aside from terrorising the Gryffindors and their respective Quidditch team, which he was also captain of, James had never shied away from expressing his opinion or aggression, which were interchangeable to him.

But the looks, oh boy, the looks. By fourteen, when James was starting to develop into a proper young lad, his masculine features had begun to define themselves as he grew into a muscular, handsome teenage boy with the most charming smile no girl could have ever resisted.

With his adolescence and his sixteenth year had also come the Swastika just above his collarbone.

It had happened during the summer break, when he had refused to come along on the family holiday. Although Harry and Ginny had had a weird feeling leaving him, they had definitely not expected that he would in the meantime go to Naziland.

It was tiny, about the size of a Golden Snitch, and – according to James – _well executed and not what it looks like._ Many other tattoos followed the Swastika, though they were mostly art he had created himself and then perpetuated on his skin. Those Harry hadn't minded, but the Swastika _really_ had been a bit much.

By seventeen, James had finished Hogwarts as the best in his year – with _Outstandings_ in every subject. But despite his academic success, the sigh of relief that he had finally left Hogwarts could have been heard throughout the entire country.

Much to the chagrin of the Auror Department though, James had successfully been admitted.

Harry, of course, had never mentioned _the_ tattoo and he'd also repeatedly papered over his son's previous outbursts of violence. And so James had – with unsurprising facility - been able to continue being the tyrant he was.

XXX

Harry wasn't worried when he had received message that his son was late for the night shift. He wasn't surprised either. Not even angry. Just _done_. The constant struggle of containing James' temper, his fits, his tantrums and rebellion against every single bit of social norm had made him tired, and also looking far older than he actually was. Every day, new strands of grey hair forced their way through his otherwise black mane, and big, heavy bags kept pulling on his eye sockets, which made him look like the saddest version of a pantomime.

“Right, I'll take care of that”, he said in a sigh of resignation.

He knew where to find him.

At only a couple of minutes past midnight on a Wednesday, the club wasn't that busy. From approximately three-hundred people that would usually mingle in this dark, underground cave, only a few were present, leaving some chance to breathe. Harry had been here many times before; and while it would have probably felt awkward for any of his magical friends or family to come here, he liked the place for its shabby _muggle-ness_ ; and the sort of _muggle-comfort_ he found in it. The music, however, was rather distasteful – a disturbing mashup of late Millennial chartbusters and electronic beats.

It didn't take him long before he found his eldest son crammed between some other people on the dance floor, sharing sweaty kisses with a stranger, probably exchanging pills.

There – James had spotted Harry and was giving him that charming smile that sometimes Harry, too, couldn't resist. The smile that had always made Harry feel so small and insignificant, that weakened his knees and made him genuinely believe that James wasn't so bad. That the Swastika was indeed well executed and that the fact that Albus was literally scared of James was due to typical Slytherin cowardliness. It was now, too, that the smile convinced Harry that being late for work was but a trifle, nothing major, and that exchanging pills with strangers was probably just harmless sport.

In a daze, Harry approached James who'd immediately lost interest in whoever the girl was he was dancing with. He, too, approached Harry, the smile still so charmingly warm and inviting on his face. His dark hair, wet and sweaty, glistened in the show lights, and Harry wanted to touch it, run his hand through it, neatly slick it back in place. Instead, he felt himself pulled by the wrists onto the dance floor. His son's smile had turned into a boyish grin, shades of evil and mischief lurking in the corners of his mouth.

His knees were mush now, _utter pudding_ , while he watched James dance to the loud, throbbing music. James wasn't much of a dancer, but his moves were enough in synch to emphasise how much he had his well-trained body under control.

“Come on, dance!” The demand was muffled by all the noise and moisture in the air.

Harry felt his feet glued to the floor. His awkwardness ran so deep that he couldn't even sense it. So he just stood there, amongst the dancing crowd, hypnotised by his son's levity.

One of James' neck tattoos peaked out of his shirt, and Harry mentally ran through the tattoos he'd seen on his son's body, imagining how many of them he hadn't seen yet. He needed to see them and, _fuck_ , he needed to kiss every single one of them.

Surrounded by sweaty strangers, they ecstaticly locked their bodies like connecting pieces of a clockwork.

Booze and the electrifying atmosphere of the club had degraded them both to their most basic version, void of magic, unable to apparate while the recklessness of alcohol took over.

It didn't matter though.

Harry soon found himself slammed against the shabby walls of a toilet cabin, with James tightly pressing against him.

James' kisses in his neck were pure gold – the tingling sensation of his son's lips forced hoarse moans out of him. Both his hands were tightly gripping strands of the other's hair, as his body ached desperately towards him. He needed this _so_ bad.

Their mouths locked in painful bites, teeth clanking as they desperately tried to satisfy their hunger for each other.

“Fuck...want you...”

James broke the kiss, grabbing Harry by his hips, turning him around so that he faced the dirty, olive-coloured cabin wall. It was covered in scribbles and the word  _M0thefukker_ looked him dead in the eyes. 

That was the moment when his trousers were jolted down. As if in slow motion but still too fast for Harry to process, he heard a spitting noise and felt James reach down into his boxer shorts. A finger harshly forced in between his buttcheeks, about to unlock Harry's virgin mancunt. Harry groaned when he felt the intruder, and slammed his fists against the wall while the finger drilled further.. “Ffff...”

“Yeah, you like that?”, James moaned, breathing hot air into his father's ear.

Harry groaned, not knowing whether he _actually_ liked it. His body responded without consulting his mind, which was was currently out of order.

Never before had he considered doing it with a man, let alone his _son_ , but the sudden release of wild butterflies in his stomach encouraged him.

Mentally, he tried to reprimand himself for whatever it was he was experiencing, but fuck, that finger inside his arse felt too bloody good. _No_ , he thought in a faltering semblance of disgust and hesitation, _pull yourself together, Harry_! Though, as long as the sensation would be limited to a wild flock of butterflies in his stomach, it wasn't so bad, was it? The finger slid deeper inside of him – _argh_! - causing his lips to twitch into a goofy smile of arousal. This was okay, as long as he wasn't...

“Fuck!”

He was _hard_.

His head flopped down to see the inevitable. A bulging tent, drops of precum having already left stains.

_No, no, no_. _Abort! Harry, abort_! But it was twenty-three years too late for that.

“No, James, stop!”

Harry awkwardly moved his hip, arching away from the finger inside of him, when he suddenly felt a blow against the side of his head. He lost control of his senses for a moment, losing balance as he stumbled sidewards. Had it not been for James catching him, he'd have fallen over. Still in a daze, he leaned heavily against James' arm which heroically embraced him. _Of course_ , one arm was enough to keep Harry up. He wasn't skinny per se, his body was just as well trained and defined. He just never seemed to gain enough weight to stop being a beanpole.

“What the fuck, mate?” Harry managed , slowly coming back to his senses. He tried to disentangle himself but found himself again slammed against the wall, this time facing the words “ _Ur a N0nCe_ ”

“You want this!” James decided for him, pulling down Harry's boxershorts. Pressing himself against Harry, he spat into his hand and wetted his dick with it. Harry flinched and tried to reach for his wand which James knew he kept in a sleeve. He wanted to reach for it but Harry was faster. He propped himself up from against the wall, and pushed backwards against James.

“What the fuck, James?” Harry spat, embarrassed, pointing his wand at him. Awkwardly, he tried to pull his boxers and trousers up with his free hand while not averting his gaze from his raging son. He was semi-hard _and_ completely exposed.

“Did you...” Harry swallowed hard at the mere thought of what he was about ask. “Did you really just try to _rape_ me?”

James shrugged innocently, twisting his mouth as if clueless.

“What the fuck...?” Harry's voice trailed off in a high-pitched squeak. He stared at James in disbelief, shocked that he was shocked.

“Yeah.”

Harry looked blankly past James. ~~Had it not been completely absurd, Harry would have laughed.~~

Harry laughed.

This _was_ absurd.

Harry focussed back on James when he noticed him lick his finger. _That_ finger.

“Tell you what, dad”, James began after smacking his lips. “You're fucking hot.”

TBC...


End file.
